Our Fragmented Lives
by PostMalone
Summary: Love cuts deeper than the sharpest blade, cripples more than shattered bones and leaves scars that can never fade. As for Gwynn, the saying still holds true even in this post-apocalyptic world; for it is love, not zombies, that very well may be the death of her.


**Disclaimer:** **The Walking Dead is owned by Robert Kirkman.**

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 **Preface:**

 _Fucking dreams._

They had been occurring more frequently these past few weeks, waking him in the middle of the night disturbing his restful REMs. Tonight though Negan had had enough. Which was why he was out and away from camp as the others slept; even that fat bastard who was supposed to be on guard was slumped up against a tree catching some late-night zs with an AK lying limp between his thick fingers. He would be dealt with in the morning, however. Right now though, Negan needed to be alone. His mind raced while his deep breaths attempted to calm his beating heart. Even though he knew it was nothing but a pathetic dream, this one tonight had shaken him to his core. It had just seemed so fucking real, more so than the others.

Deep within the valley of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the moon shown brightly lighting his way as he walked down a dirt road. An owl hooted nearby, and Negan took that as a good sign. Living in this brand new world he'd learned a thing or two, and any sign of animal life meant none of the dead was nearby. Negan relaxed slightly, though his grip never wavered from Lucille. A cool breeze blew, and as if breathing some life back into him he stopped walking and turned to stare in the direction from whence he came.

 _God. How long have I been walking?_ He wondered as he ran a hand through his hair. Negan shook his head, and the wind began to pick up. He was about to head back when he saw it.

The truck was parked ten yards away, stored in between two tall evergreen trees. A tarp covered it, but it gave its position away as it flapped in the wind. Raising Lucille with both hands, Negan approached cautiously. A few branches had been tossed across the pickup as if to camouflage it more, but whoever had done it had done a piss poor job. Lifting the tarp slowly, Negan checked the cab just to make sure it was empty; once confirmed, he walked around to the front of the truck and placed his hand upon the hood. It was still warm.

On full alert, Negan straightened and looked around, pivoting as he backed away from the truck to give himself some room to fight in case of an ambush. But there was nothing. All was silent except for the owl who hooted again, this time a little farther away. After a few moments, Negan dropped Lucille at his side. Any other time he'd rally up the group and begin a search party for the rat bastard who owned the vehicle, but tonight his reoccurring dream kept dancing its way to the forefront of his mind. Fuck the truck and who it belonged to. Tonight all he wanted was to be back at the compound in his warm bed with a woman on his cock and a bottle of hooch in his hand. Those would be sure to bring him to the land of forgetfulness.

Taking a step back in the direction of the camp Negan's foot slid out from under him, and he used Lucille as a crutch to catch himself before he fell to the ground. Righting himself, he looked down, and in the moonlight, there was a small black puddle. Actually, no, there were a lot of little black pools of something all around. He removed the small flashlight that was clipped at his side and turned it on, keeping it on the lowest setting as to not attract attention.

Blood. A trail of blood to be exact. Leading from that pickup truck, of course, over towards. . .

Negan followed the trail as it led him over to the nearest mountain. Between thick trees, he came to a manmade opening that had been cut out into the stone; the gate that covered it not even latched. This instantly piqued his interest, finally driving his thoughts about the dream out of his mind entirely.

 _Well, what do we have here?_

With hesitant steps, Negan crossed the threshold his objective clear as more stone steps laid out before him. Quickly he began his ascent, praying like hell they weren't booby-trapped. He was not in the mood to deal with some bullshit. As the summit of the mountain came into view, he slowed. Though he had Lucille, Negan removed the loaded gun he had from the waist of his jeans. You know, just as an added precaution.

Taking the final steps, Negan was instantly stopped dead in his tracks; but not from anything horrible, instead, the exact opposite could be said as he stared straight ahead at a massive two-story log cabin. The thing looked to be in pristine condition and in addition to the beautiful sprawling green lawn that surrounded the home a newly built barn sat adjacent to it, and if that wasn't enough a waterfall fell some fifty yards behind the barn and into a river that ran peacefully by the house. Well wasn't this as pretty as a picture.

With his heart in his throat from anticipation, Negan ducked off to the side behind the nearest tree and closed his eyes. He took deep calming breaths in an attempt to soothe his erratically beating heart.

What in the hell had he just stumbled upon? A jackpot, that's what! This place had to contain all kinds of goodies, and from how poorly the truck had been hidden, to how easy it was to find and follow the blood trail to this magical place before him, Negan was willing to bet his left nut that whoever lived here would be easy for the taking.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.


End file.
